The Danger of Spinning
by rumpler
Summary: There are dangers of spinning that Rumpelstiltskin had never thought of.


The Danger of Spinning

_A short story brought to you courtesy of the Rumpler_

Rough straw fell loosely between his fingers, jerking at the first shock of being caught in the wheel. *_Spin_* A sparkle, just a hint, broke the spinning dullness of the circle. _Spin_. Almost there, pick up the pace. *_Spin_* Yes, look at that glitter, that sparkle. *_Spin*_ The roughness was smoothing. Just a bit more now, steady does it, slower, don't want it to break now. *_Spin_*

"You look like a cat caught on a mouse, you know that, right?"

Though momentarily thrown off his silent mantra, his fingers did not stop their deft turning. He had come to anticipate these clever comments from his… ward…servant…girl (well, what was he supposed to call her?). Yet, each day she managed to find a new animal or inanimate object to compare him to. What a clever, clever girl (girl, yes, he'd stick with that term).

"And I expect you'd hope to set out a nice little trap for me, hmmm?" He flicked his eye at her in one sharp glance. A look of distaste crossed her defined features at this look but she did not break his glance. Instead, she smoothed her yellow (a sunny yellow, not gold) work-dress and retied her crisp, white apron while feigning an air of propriety. As if she cared about silly things like wrinkles and dust when she was polishing the banister.

When she had finished this vanity act, her voice was strong, "Of course not, you'd never fall for any trap set. You're the cat, remember, and cats always have one eye on the mouse and the other on the cook. " A compliment? Probably not. Belle was a sort of girl that would not hold craftiness or cunning in too high of a regard.

"In either way, you've been at this all morning and haven't had a spot to eat. You'll make yourself sick at this rate." Suddenly the foe became the caretaker and Rumpelstitskin was seated at the end of his long table watching a spread of jams and breads appear before him.

He almost laughed when he thought of the meager meal first placed on his dinnerplate in that first 24 hours Belle had arrived. How interesting, he had said when a concoction that may have been stew or a pie was put before him. Stammering apologies, she quietly revealed herself to be no great cook and Rumpelstitskin took this opportunity to test his own mortality by consuming every morsel (Yes, a personal challenge. It had not to see those smiling dimples on blushing cheeks.). Amazing how cleverly placed, newly purchased cookbooks and a few months of experimental mealtimes could produce, thought Rumpelstitskin, as he bit into a roll smothered in at least three types of sticky sweet jam.

"Not a child!" He muffled through a second, now boysenberry and cranapple spread, roll.

Her hand slipped to her hip and she cocked an eyebrow, "If mind and manner be, I'll call them as I see." Riddles. He pouted: not fun when the joke was on him. A smile spread across his face to match hers.

"I found something in your attic today." She took the seat to this left and spooned a lump of sugar into her tea cup.

"What's that?"

"It was a box. Well, I actually found it weeks ago. You have such a dreadful, crowded attic, you know that? Dozens, hundreds of boxes filled with things you probably don't even know you own. Books and puzzles and dried flowers and shoes – women's shoes!- and arrows and feathers and hats and helmets and colognes and-"

He interrupted, "You are coming to a point, yes?"

She suppressed a smile and crimson lit her cheeks. "Well, I found this box a few weeks ago when sorting your treasureload and at first I did not think a thing of it. But yestermorning I gave it a second glance and – oh, let just show you!" A twirl of yellow skirts and chocolate curls spun in her departure. He hated when she did that feminine rambling. So childish, so airheaded, so…endear-annoying. Yes, annoying. Little minx.

Huffing and puffing, Belle lugged a rather large piece into the dining hall. Rumpelstitskin jumped from his seat, clapping his hands three times in delight, and skipped to the scene.

"Do you even know what you have undercovered, my deary?" His squeal was matched with her twinkling laughter. No matter the occasion, it was apparent that she found his quirks delightful. Well, I am quite a delight, he thought as he gently stroked his growing ego.

"Well, it's a music box."

"A music box? A mus- this is more than that, girl! This is an exquisite, splendabulous gramophone!" He bounced out into the middle of the hall and splayed his arms out dramatically. In response, she only blinked.

Arms fell back to his side, "It's a very advanced music box that I got as a gift." His voice temporarily lost his luster and came out monotonous.

"Oh, from who?" Slender fingers delicately traced the grooved cylinder. When he did not answer this question she tried another. "How does it work, I cranked it for ages and-?"

He strode to his cabinet and pulled out a black plate, "You need to put a record in it, give it something to go off of." Surprising even to himself, his tone lacked the arrogance that he took pride of. Hmm, too many hours at the wheel must have exhausted him out of it.

Once assembled and started, smooth music flowed from the box enchanted and filled the room. Notes bounced off the walls and created echoious harmonies. A loud sigh, bordering on a moan, escaped Belle's lips as she swayed to the beat.

"It's amazing."

"It's for dances." Now, where did that come from, Rumpelstitskin ol' boy?

She stopped, "Oh no, I- I don't. There's so much to do! I was, erm, going to- going to...dust the, um, curtains." His hand stopped her stutters with the barest touch on her own.

"Scared." It was not a question, because he had his answer just by looking at the sight of their pressed touch. Pale skin like milk, a consequence of months of shadows and candlelight, starkly different from his own dark skin like scales, a consequence of…

"No. I don't know how."

Their gaze did not break.

The edges of his mouth turned upright. "Nonsense. You are a lady and ladies can dance." With a quick clap and flick of his feet, the dance began.

Gliding, synchronizing, touching. He fell into the beat. One, two, grasp hands. One, two, feet together, One, two, fingers to her left hip. One, two, she pressed against his palm. One, two, the ribbons had fallen from her hair. One, two, faster. _*Spin*_ Too much, too fast. One, two, she was smiling breathlessly. One, two, smiling at _him_. One, two, too much.*_Spin*_ One, two, this has to stop. One, two…One…two..._*Spin*_

"I think it's finished."

It was Belle that broke the silence.

It was up to Rumpelstitskin to let go of her.

Oh, for mercy's sake, let her go.

"It's getting late, I'll have to do the curtains tomorrow." Her voice sounded distant.

"Yes." He gasped, stumbling to his wheel and clinging to its frame, "So much time wasted today. Tomorrow, yes."

He did not turn towards her. Could not afford to meet those eyes and see questions he did not have answers for. The sounds of her departing footsteps sent relief flooding into his veins. She would go back to her work now and he would continue his spinning. Yes, spin the straw, get the gold. Spin the straw, not the girl. There was a danger to spinning of that nature. If he let himself spin like _that _again, who knows whether he would - _could_ - stop? It was nothing anyway, just a passing moment between tea and nightfall. Just a passing moment...

_*Spin*_


End file.
